


What's In A Name

by KnightlyWrites



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Names, character contemplation, prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 11:46:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17959883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnightlyWrites/pseuds/KnightlyWrites
Summary: Just musings about the various names Polly has had and what they mean to her.





	What's In A Name

Elizabeth  
Elizabeth was the first name she got, never Lizzy or Beth, always Elizabeth since the day she was born, a royal name with a history of generosity, a catholic name for a fucking gypsy. A name to hide the pikey stain that was her heritage, a damn fitting contradiction. 

Shelby  
Before little Elizabeth could even spell it proper she knew she was a Shelby, and she knew from that young age roughly what that meant. Being a Shelby meant people looked at you different, more different that just being Irish. You got in cuts and scrapes, played dirty and your dresses never fit proper. People didn’t like Shelby’s but you had your kin at least. And Kin looked after each other. Young Elizabeth wasn’t quite sure what the difference between kin and Shelby was though, it meant she had lots of aunties at least. 

Pollyanna  
Only one man called her Pollyanna, that's how it started anyway. Others took his word as permission and suddenly that became a part of her. Something she had never asked for nor taken now as good as branded on her face. The name felt small, something he said to dismiss, the name of the woman who serves brandy while the men did business. She cursed this name, just as she cursed the man who branded her with it. 

Polly  
The kids called her Polly, gypsies spoke fast and the way “Pollyanna” rolled from one syllable to the next like is was said by a drunk man tied inexperienced tongues. So Polly she was, another name she was branded with. Polly had more power to it, more bite though. Those kids needed her, so did their bastard of a father, without her those kids would be hauled off by the state and everyone knew it. Polly, who’s words cut through the daily nonsense. Polly who tried her damnist to instill common sense in her boys. Polly became the name of the matriarch of the Shelby family and it fit her nicely. 

Grey  
Grey, finally a softer name. This name was gifted to her wrapped in satin like the ring it came with. Mrs Grey would be the name of the woman who made jam sandwiches and worked in a shop. But more than that Grey was an out, a name to replace Shelby. A normal name, a free name, a name with no baggage or reputation. If only someone used that name. 

Pol  
Pol was the name of a gangster. The woman who did everything for herself, to herself. The woman who fought, brawled. The woman who drank brandy and spoke business. Pol did anything for the ones she loved, that's what she told herself anyway. Maybe she just told herself that, it kept the voice quiet. The voice that called her a murderer, the voice that made her think the blood was still on her hands. That wasn’t as bad as the memory of HIS hands on her throat, that memory strangled her mind.It wasn’t the only voice who called her Pol, her boys did too. When they needed things, dangerous things, when the fucking twits left their guns lying around on coffee tables or in the middle of junk yards. Just throw them in the fucking cut. She’d throw this name in the cut too. Pol, to hell with her. 

But they needed Pol, Tommy more than anyone else. But she needed him too, the one bastard in this god forsaken family who might just be a soulless as she felt.


End file.
